


Need You in the Storm

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Murphy reluctantly lets Bellamy into his life</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'd just like to point out that murphy is not in a good place for most of this fic so please only read if you feel comfortable with that
> 
> that said, i think this is the longest finished fic ive ever posted anywhere and im quite proud of it, i hope you enjoy
> 
> title from vanessa by grimes

Murphy feels pissed at the entire world. Like really fucking pissed.

He wishes he hadn't decided to show up at school today. He can barely stand being there at all. He feels like a fucking bomb. Anger is radiating from every cell in his body and people better not fucking approach him or he swears he'll punch them in the face.

As if on cue some asshole shouts, "Hey Murphy! It's too bad you weren't in that car with him when he crashed. Would've been nice to finally be rid of you."

He feels his jaw tightens and his fingers flex and if they wanted him angry, well he's fucking angry.

His mouth curves into a sneer as he turns to look at fucking Connor and he can feel the blood rushing in his ears, his mind feels like it's bursting at the fucking seams with anger and it's rushing through his body. He feels like he was born ready to pound this this asshole's face to a fucking pulp.

Breathing heavily he pushes through the crowd of people separating him from Connor and lunges forward, grabbing a fist full his shirt and reels a fist back, winding up for a punch, when out of fucking nowhere someone cuts in between then and grabs him by both is shoulders, manhandling him with a little too much force for his liking and pushing him back into the lockers.

He shoves at the body in front of him and glares up at the stranger's face, then blinks a few times, doing a double take and maybe his eyes flicker down and linger for a few seconds on his chest because fuck.

The guy's hot. Like really hot. And someone save Murphy's poor little gay heart, because he's really built and his shirt is really unnecessarily tight.

Frankly, on most days Murphy would count it as a blessing if a really hot guy was shoving him up against the lockers, but just his luck, when the guy opens his mouth, he turns out to be an arrogant fucking prick.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks like he's some sort of responsible figure here or he owns the place.

"You really shouldn't be trying to pick fights in the middle of the hallway." the guy continues, in a spectacular 'condescending douche bag' kind of tone.

_Fuck him,_ Murphy decides.

"Fuck you." he spits out, giving the guy one last glare, before pulling away. He turns on his heels and walks away, purposefully not looking back at the crowd muttering behind him.

Unfortunately, he's barely taken five steps in the opposite direction when a hand gently grabs hold of his arm and he barely holds back a groan as he turns around, shrugging the hand off him.

"You're John Murphy, right?" the guy asks.

"What's it to you." he spits out in frustration, hoping he will take the fucking hint and leave.

But the guy's got this sympathetic look on his face now and Murphy wishes he could punch it right off. "I just... I heard about your dad, I-"

Murphy's heard enough. "Ya, whatever, fuck you." He cuts the guy off and he's walking away as fast as he can before he has to hear another goddamn 'I'm sorry' from anyone. He gets it. Everyone is sorry. They're sorry cause it's the polite thing to be, sorry because they feel uncomfortable around the topic of death, uncomfortable around him.

Ya, he gets it, he's also pretty fucking sorry. Sorry his father's dead. Sorry it's his goddamn fault. He's sorry people either hate him or act like they're walking on eggshells around him, like he's going to fucking break or something.

He's pretty wrapped up in his thoughts when he hears footsteps catching up to him and, god, that motherfucker is relentless. "Listen, I know you probably don't want to talk about it, I get it. I'm sorry I brought it up." He's saying.

"That's great. Will you leave me the fuck alone now." Murphy raises his voice and although he was going for threatening, there's an edge of desperation to it he hopes the other guy doesn't catch on to.

The guy steps in front of him and blocks his path so he's standing right in front of Murphy, intense gaze searching his face. "Look, I'm sorry I stepped in and stopped you from hitting that guy. I get that you probably want to let off some steam, I just figured you probably didn't want to end up in detention..."

...

And that's how he lands himself in detention on a Tuesday afternoon, staring out the window of a nearly empty classroom, on possibly the worst day of his life, not to be dramatic.

He lets out a deep sigh and Mrs. Griffin glares at him from her desk at the front of the classroom, her gaze pulled off him and towards the door by a knock. She gets up and opens it, letting in none other than that fucking hot guy who also happens to be a huge pain in his ass.

"Mr. Blake." she nods, acknowledging him, then gestures towards the rows of empty seats.

The guy, Blake, is holding up an ice pack against his jaw, he gives her a brief smile and walks down a few rows and sits in the seat directly beside Murphy's despite the classroom being practically empty. Murphy rolls his eyes, letting out a a snort. You'd think after punching a guy in the face he'd catch on and fuck off already.

_Fuck this guy_ , he thinks.

_Wouldn't you like that?_ his brain retaliates.

_Ugh._ He doesn't need this coming from himself. _You're a disgusting piece of shit,_ he reminds himself for good measure, burying his face in his balled up hoodie on the desk.

...

He's startled awake by someone gently shaking his shoulder and a soft voice saying "John, wake up." He jerks his head up from the desk, wiping at the dampness on the side of his face with the back of his hand. He lets out a confused "Wuh?", and looks up to see none other than Blake staring back at him.

"What do you want?" he asks groggily, looking around to see that they're alone in the room now.

Blake fucking smiles. "You fell asleep. Everyone else is already gone and I thought you might want a ride home, since it's dark out."

Murphy considers telling him to fuck off, but it's mid December and it's dark and cold out and frankly, he doesn't think this guy is going to leave him alone any time soon.

"Fine." he relents. "and it's Murphy, by the way." He adds for good measure as he follows Blake out to his ratty car and dropping down into the passenger's seat.

"What the fuck do you want from me anyway, Blake?" he asks as soon as the other boy has his door closed.

"Bellamy. My name's Bellamy." he answers, smiling at Murphy and resting his hand on the passenger seat headrest as he looks back to pull out of the parking spot. "And I don't want anything from you. I'm sorry we got off to a bad start, okay."

"I don't get why there needed to be a start at all, but okay." Murphy snarks back, but his heart isn't in it. Silence settles between them for a while, heavy, yet somehow comforting.

"You know my dad died too, when I was younger, so I know what it's like," Bellamy breaks the silence, him by surprise "if you ever need someone to talk to..." the sincerely in his voice leaves Murphy speechless and staring, mouth slightly agape. He cant wrap his mind around why a complete stranger would be so nice to him. To him, of all people. Especially after he punched said stranger in the face barely three hours ago.

"That's my street. You can just let me off here, I'll walk the rest." he says quickly.

Bellamy looks like he's about to object but he doesn't, unlocking the door and bidding Murphy goodnight as he stumbles out of the car and onto the sidewalk. He watches Bellamy drive away and tries to make sense of the mess in his head as he starts his walk home.

...

He feels as though the cold has seeped into his bones when he finally slips past the front door and into the warmth of his house. He kicks off his boots and leaves them next to his dad's on the mat.

Everything looks so normal, he could almost convince himself nothing's changed, but then he hears his mother's voice and he knows it has. Knows she blames him for his father's death and how could she not, after all, he'd been the one who'd begged him to go back out for Advil. Fucking Advil. As if his headache couldn't wait until the morning.

"Where the hell were you?" his mother demands to know as soon as she catches sight of him.

"I got detention." he replies, avoiding her eyes.

"Of course you did! You're always getting yourself in trouble, fucking worthless..." she's going off again and he tunes her out, knowing full well anything she has to say, he's probably thought about himself a thousand times. He knows he's a failure, he doesn't need reminding.

Grabbing the jar of pickles from the fridge, he escapes to his room as she shouts something at him about eating a proper meal, as if her dinner is going to consist of anything more than a bottle of gin.

...

He goes to school everyday that week, just to keep his mind occupied. Life becomes a routine: sleep away the hours at home, wake up in the morning, just to pointlessly sit in class for a few hours, eat lunch alone with music blasting so loud you can't think over it, then finish the day and go home. Repeat.

It's Friday, which means he won't have anything to distract him tomorrow, he doesn't want to think about it though so he listens to the teacher drawl on about linear something or rather even though he doesn't understand a word of what she says.

The bells rings and he goes to his locker, even though he didn't bring anything with him to school so it's not like he needs anything from it. It's just that it feels like the right thing to do since that's where everyone else is going.

He opens his locker, stares into it for a bit and closes it, only to find Bellamy fucking Blake leaning against the row of lockers beside his, like something out of a fucking teen movie, waiting for him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he bites out.

"I saw you walking to school this morning." Bellamy replies, as if that's any explanation for why he's waiting by Murphy's locker.

"I'm going to ignore how creepy that sounds and ask again: what the fuck are you doing here?"

Bellamy rolls his eyes as if the answer is obvious and Murphy is completely missing the point.

"You weren't wearing a jacket, idiot. It's December, you're gonna get sick of you keep wearing just that hoodie." he reaches out, pinching the thin material between his fingers for emphasis.

Murphy is just getting more and more confused with every passing second. "That still doesn't explain why you're here." he points out.

"Well," Bellamy starts, "the thing is either you let me drive you home tonight, and all the way home, this time," he adds pointedly. "or you take my jacket, because I'm not letting you get a fucking cold" he gives Murphy a defiant look and Murphy really doesn't fucking get him.

"Why does it matter to you if I get sick? I'm not your fucking charity case just cause my dad died, okay? I don't need a fucking babysitter." he says, combing his fingers through his hair, in frustration, trying to avoid having to look directly at Bellamy, who looks kind of hurt, which okay, maybe Murphy feels a little bad about. Especially when the guy is looking at him with those fucking puppy dog eyes and – "Fine, you can drive me home." he gives in, with a sigh, it's only one night, it doesn't mean anything.

"Thank you." Bellamy says as if Murphy is doing him a favour and Murphy really doesn't fucking get him.

...

As Christmas break approaches, Murphy starts finding more and more empty liquor bottles lying around, which are becoming the only proof that his mother and him are still actually cohabiting. He's gotten pretty good at avoiding her and those accusing glares he gets every second she's around him, so it's almost like they aren't really living in the same house, which is probably for the best.

It makes the house seem so much emptier though, almost uninhabited. The house feels like a ghost town, emphasizing more than ever the absence of his father.

It's not like he was ever very close to either of his parents. He's always been a bit too temperamental, a bit too unambitious, not quite good enough. He'd come to terms with it a while ago, but it's not like it didn't sting.

So he just can't figure out why he feels so fucking helpless and sad all the time. He shouldn't miss his father, he barely knew the man, for fucks sake. He wishes he were stronger than this, that he didn't care so much.

Unfortunately for him, he does. And at night, he lets himself shed a few silent tears for his loss… but most of them are for himself and the goddamn disappointment that he is.

...

On the last day before break, he walks up to his locker at the end of the day to find Bellamy already standing there waiting for him.

When he spots Murphy, Bellamy's face breaks into a grin and his eyes light up and shit and Murphy isn't sure if this is supposed to mean that they're friends or something but he's pretty sure he never agreed to anything of the sort.

"Hey." he says, suspiciously as he reaches to open his and he's pretty sure he sees a flash of approval on Bellamy's face at the sight of the jacket stuffed in it. "What do you want this time?" he asks, but the question has no edge to it.

"Give me your phone." Bellamy says. Murphy . If this is some sort of "give me your lunch money" bullying technique Murphy's pretty sure you're not required to be aggressively nice to the person for a few weeks before taking their things.

The confusion must show on his face, because Bellamy fucking laughs. It's a really nice laugh and it makes him feel warm inside, which in turn kind of makes him want to punch something.

"I want to give you my number. So you can call me if you need to talk to me for any reason over the holidays." he says.

Okay, maybe no punching, but Murphy thinks he should be annoyed at that, because this guy is forcing his way into his life, yet somehow he can't bring himself to care much so maybe he likes having Bellamy around more than he would like to let on.

He still gives Bellamy a quizzical look as he hands his phone over though, because he's just really doesn't fucking get this guy. Like who is that nice to someone they barely know.

Bellamy finishes typing and hands the phone back. "If you need anything." he presses, with a meaningful look, before he turns to go.

"Have a nice break, Murphy." he shouts over his shoulder with a smile and Murphy just stays there with his back to his locker, clutching his phone and staring in the direction Bellamy left for a minute or two as he gathers himself.

Fuck hot guys, he decides, especially ones who are so unnecessarily nice all the time.

...

He gets home later than usual, but the house is empty.

He flops down on his bed and slides the lock on his phone. Bella(call)my the contact name reads, followed by an impressive amount of emojis.

It's the worst pun he's ever read in his life yet something inside him feels kinda warm looking at it so he shoved his face into his pillow to hide a smile. He's pretty sure this fucking dork is going to be the death of him.

He lies around that night and even makes himself pasta for dinner. His mother doesn't seem to be getting home any time soon, which he's relieved by, yet the house feels too quiet. He considers calling Bellamy, but that would mean needing to make up an excuse to talk to him, so he doesn't.

He finally settles for going to bed at 9, for lack of anything better to do and judging that it's probably best for him to be out of the way if his mother ever does get home.

....

He's surprised it takes a whole five days of him sitting around pointlessly at home before shit actually goes downhill.

He's been doing his best to stay out of his mother's way, only leaving his bedroom once he's heard the front door slam, announcing she's gone to work.

If he thought he and his mother had been playing the avoidance game before, he now realizes he was wrong. This is a whole new level of pretending they don't live together and it almost makes him feel alone.

He guesses he could try to get out of the house and go somewhere but he's not even sure where he'd go; never really having been the type to make lots of friends.

So he sits around and watches whatever dumb sit com is trending on Netflix, barely paying attention and letting the noise lull him onto sleep, curled up on the couch.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i separated this chapter from the rest fo the fic for possible triggers of panic attacks (although they aren't described in super detail) and child abuse, in case that sounds like something you want to skip, please be safe and just skip this if you want to keep reading but think it could trigger you

He's woken by a loud crashing sound coming from the kitchen and his mother's voice spouting profanities.

Against his better judgement, he tentatively gets up and peers into the kitchen, checking to see if she's alright.

He finds her sprawled on the floor, clearly drunk, a half empty whisky glass in one hand and an even emptier bottle of that awful, sickly sweet orange liqueur in the other. The room reeks of booze and the sour acid smell of vomit.

He takes a few steps closer, looking down at his mother with her tear stained cheeks. She looks like she's grown so much older in so little time. His heart clenches as he wonders what the hell has happened to the woman who used to tuck him into bed and kiss his forehead goodnight.

He reaches out for her, but when he gently shakes his mother's shoulder, her eyes flicker open and he's met by the hateful glare of a drunken woman, broken by the loss of her husband.

"Mom, you should get up." he tries, despite the voices in the back of his mind shouting at him to get the hell out.

"Your fucking fault." she mumbles swatting his offered hand away. She grips the counter for leverage, pulling her self into an unsteady standing position.

He takes a few weary steps back.

"It's your fault he's dead, John." her voice is strained, weak, but it hits him like a slap across the face.

"I'm sorry." he whispers, looking directly at the cabinets above her head, then at he ground. Anywhere but at her.

Tears sting behind his eyelids, he clenches his jaw.

"It's your fault!" her voice comes out stronger now, punctuated by a sob. "You and your stupid little fucking headache."

He cowers farther into the corner, trying to block out her voice and cursing himself for thinking he could help this broken woman who used to be his mother, for hoping she might forgive him.

"You fucking killed him, John!" she shouts and his eyes are screwed shut so tightly he doesn't see it coming.

He flinched at the loud crash, right beside his ear and feels pain in his left cheek.

He opens his eyes, slowly, trying to get a grip on himself, on the situation, on his goddamn breathing.

He looks down. There's glass shards covering the floor around him. The shards of the bottle his mother had been drinking from.

His hands are shaking. Fuck. He tries to think, but his brain isn't working, he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do.

He looks up at his mother. She's leaning heavily against the counter to hold herself up. Her expression is one of shock: wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. She shakes her head a little, as though trying to make sense of whats she's just done, through her drunken haze.

He tries to think, but he can barely breathe. He needs air. He needs to get the hell out of here.

He practically sprints to the front door and barely stops to grab his ratty old boots before he's rushing out into the cold air, without a glance back at his mother.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He barely feels the cold air or the roughness of the ground as he runs aimlessly down his street and down the next one until his lungs hurt.

Then he sits on the curb and finally puts his boots on and fucking cries like the useless piece of shit he fucking is.

It takes him a while to start feeling the cold, but he realizes he's shivering. He considers going back, sneaking up into his bedroom and locking the door, but just the though sets alarms off in his head.

He pats down his pockets and feels a rush of relief when he finds his phone safely lodged in one of them.

With a deep breath, he slides the lock screen and quickly finds what he's looking for in his short list of contacts. He presses the call button before he can talk himself down from it.

It rings for a while and he's about to end the call when a familiar voice picks up.

"Hello?" Bellamy says, voice rough with sleep and Murphy feels relief and anxiety swirl in his stomach.

"Um, I…" he starts, but realizes he has no idea what to say. It's not like he can just ask a practical stranger to pick him up somewhere in the middle of the fucking night. God, he's such an idiot. He considers just hanging up, but Bellamy's voice cuts through his whirlwind of thoughts.

"Murphy, what's wrong?" he sounds concerned and Murphy hates himself for having dragged him into this now.

He sighs, but supposes it's too late to back out now. "I… Can you come get me?" he cringes at how desperate and broken he sounds.

There's rustling on the other end of the line and when Bellamy speaks again, he sounds a lot more awake.

"Where are you?" he asks.

Murphy looks around for a street sign and reads the intersection off to him.

"I'll be there soon, just hang in there." is the last thing he hears before the phone line goes dead.

...

It's barely fifteen minutes for the a familiar car to roll up to his spot on the curb and he hasn't even gotten the chance to get up, before Bellamy is out of the car and beside him, wrapping him in his jacket and opening the car door for him.

He wants to feel angry about it, spit out that he can do it on his own, maybe even criticize Bellamy for actually showing up, but he doesn't. He feels exhausted and gratefully melts into the heat blasting out of the small vents.

Bellamy throws him a concerned glance, like he wants to ask, but choses not to, which Murphy is unbelievably relieved by as it is.

"Is it okay if I bring you to my house?" he asks instead and Murphy nods weakly. Anywhere with a bed that isn't his house would be a welcome sight, right now.

...

 

The drive is short and they hold a comfortable silence. Bellamy often glancing over, as if to make sure Murphy is still sitting in the passenger's seat, beside him.

When they get to his house, Bellamy rushes to open Murphy's door for him as if Murphy can't do it himself, but he lets it's slide, just this once. He's too tired to complain.

They enter the house quietly and Bellamy grabs Murphy's hand, guiding him up the stairs and into a small bathroom.

There, he rummages through a few cabinets before finding a little first aid box that he places on the counter.

Murphy gives him a confused look and almost jumps away when Bellamy ever so gently brushes the hair out of his face, exposing his left cheek.

"Can I just clean that out?" he asks softly, as if he's afraid Murphy will scare, or maybe that someone in the house will wake up. Murphy isn't sure, but he nods.

Cleaning out the cut stings like a bitch, but Bellamy's hands are warm and gentle and Murphy is pliable with exhaustion. He want to collapse and sleep forever and not have to face anything. He screws his eyes shut again and takes a deep breath.

"All done." Bellamy announces and hold out his hand again. Murphy takes it after a few second's hesitation and let's himself be dragged to a small room down the hall.

"Do you mind sharing a bed?" Bellamy asks. "Just for tonight."

Murphy doesn't like the way he's looking at him. It's too searching, too intense and he just wants to fucking sleep. So he nods and flops onto the bed, hoping he can just get some fucking rest.

...

Unfortunately for him, sleep doesn't come easy. He lies on his side on the very edge of the mattress, facing the wall and trying to take up as little space as possible.

He thinks about those dumb clichés about sleeping better next to someone else, and thinks they're fucking dumb.

He's so afraid that one wrong move could suddenly wake Bellamy up and make him realize that this is Murphy he's sleeping next to. Murphy that Bellamy got up in the middle of the night to pick up, because he was freezing his ass off on some street corner. He's afraid Bellamy will realize that one in their right mind should possibly be this good to a practical stranger, to him. He doesn't deserve this and he's afraid any second now Bellamy will wake up and realize that.

That thought makes him want to run. It makes him want to get as far away from Bellamy who's way too fucking nice to him anyway, before Bellamy gets a chance to turn on him.

He stays, however because he's afraid to disappoint Bellamy if he leaves

He stays, because he can hear Bellamy's even breathing coming from behind him and he can't bear the thought of disturbing his sleep.

He stays and matches his own breathing to Bellamy's until his mind finally gives in and he's lulled into sleep.

...

There's a knock at the bedroom door and it drags him out of his already light sleep. He just barely lifts his head and squints at the light coming in from the window, wondering what time it is.

The bed shifts as Bellamy gets up and he suddenly feels a lot colder. A few seconds pass and he can hear the door creak open. An unfamiliar feminine voice whispers something, too low for him to hear.

"It's not like that, O." Bellamy is saying back in a hushed tone and it twinges something in Murphy's gut when he realizes Bellamy is trying not to wake him up. He buries his face back into the pillow and tries not to think about it.

He hears Bellamy leave and close the door behind him and drifts back into sleep after that.

...

When he wakes up, he's unsure what to do. It's not like there's exactly a hand book on how to go about interacting with someone after you called them to pick you up in the middle of the night without giving them any explanation.

Explanations… he lets out a deep sigh. He figures he probably owes Bellamy that much, but just the thought of explaining anything, or even thinking about last night floods him with anguish.

He screws his eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Bellamy chooses that moment to walk into the room without bothering to knock. He starts to say something, but quickly cuts himself off.

"Murphy, are you okay?" he rushes to sit next to the other boy on the bed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Murphy barely looks up, but concern is obviously written all over Bellamy's face.

"I'm sorry" Murphy whispers, taking another breath and doubling his efforts to pull himself the fuck together.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Murphy."

He snorts at that. If only that were true. Bellamy either doesn't hear the snort or ignores it, opting to stand up abruptly, announcing that he's making breakfast and Murphy can come downstairs if he wants to.

...

Breakfast is pancakes that Bellamy makes for them.

"Do you even add any batter to this or do you just dump chocolate chips into the pan?" Murphy teases.

"Hey, don't criticize my pancake to chocolate ratios. They're great." Bellamy objects.

At that moment a brunette girl noisily trumps down the stairs and plunks down into one of the chairs at the table.

"I hope you've made enough for all of us, Bell." she says, with way too much pep for 10 in the morning.

Murphy glances at Bellamy, wondering if he'll get introduced, but the girl is one step ahead of him already.

"I'm Octavia." she announces, shoving a particularly large piece of chocolate chip pancake into her mouth. "I'm Bell's favourite sister."

Bellamy laughs at that. "You're my only sister." he says in a tone that suggests this isn't the first time he's dealt with this joke.

"I'm Murphy." he says and regrets it immediately when she turns her full attention onto him and her eyes pause for a few seconds on the cuts on his cheek, but it's the way she stares at him with an intensity like she's trying to read his mind that has him really unsettled.

"Ya. Bellamy's told me about you." her tone suggesting something, though he isn't quite sure what. "You're in my year, right? We have French class together."

He's taken by surprise by the question, because frankly he didn't think she'd ever taken notice of him or that she'd be interested in talking to him now.

"Ya, I think so." he answers her question. He knows he's seen her around before, but he isn't exactly known for paying much attention in French class, or even showing up at all.

"You should sit next to me sometime. Friend of Bell's is a friend of mine." she says and he highly doubts she actually means that, but tried to keep an impassive expression. He also bites back a comment about how he and Bellamy aren't actually friends because well, the guy is making him pancakes.

He glances over to Bellamy who is watching the scene unravel with a look of curiosity, perhaps mixed with a little bit of nervousness. He pushes the plate of pancakes toward his sister, noticing her empty plate.

But apparently Octavia has had enough of pancakes and small talk. "Later losers." she throws over her shoulder as she gets up from the table and heads back upstairs. Her door is closed before Bellamy gets the chance to tell her to put her plate in the dishwasher.

He calls for her and gets a "Sorry, Bell, I'll do it next time." in response.

Murphy sits back and watches as Bellamy rolls his eyes and sigh, but he looks kind of fond as collects the plates, placing them in the dishwasher. It's all weirdly domestic and he feels like he's intruding on the Blake household.

He wonders if there's somewhere he could go for a while that isn't his own house and draws a blank. It almost makes him wish he had more friends, but he finds himself reminded that most people are shit and quickly dismisses that idea.

"Murphy?" He's pulled out of his thoughts and Bellamy is looking at him expectantly, without seeming too impatient, which he's grateful for because he has no clue what Bellamy was saying.

"What?"

"Do you need to change clothes?" he asks, nodding toward Murphy's shirt.

"Uh, ya, probably. I don't have anything with me though."

"You can borrow mine." Bellamy assures him. And he raises an eye brows at that, the corners of his mouth tugging up, into a smirk.

"Oh ya, because your clothes will fit me perfectly."

"They'll fit you well enough." Bellamy says, knowing full well it's a lie, but smiling at the thought of Murphy's small frame fitting in one of his shirts.  
...

The shirt and sweatpants Bellamy lends him are definitely too big. They make him feel small, but the way Bellamy smiles when he sees him makes him feel warm on the inside so he figures it's worth it.

It's almost noon and he knows he should probably be deciding what he's going to do with himself tonight, but Bellamy suggests a Mario Kart tournament and he can't exactly say no to that.

"I'm totally going to kick your ass, Blake." he declared as he drops down on the couch.

"Keep thinking that, Murphy." Bellamy grins.

...

Bellamy ends up beating him, but he's pretty sure being really distractingly attractive counts as cheating so it wasn't exactly a fair game.

He obviously doesn't repeat his theory to Bellamy, but he does sit on the counter and watch him as he makes them lunch.

"Wow. Mac and cheese. I'm really impressed with your cooking skills Bellamy, honestly." he snarks.

"Oh, as if you can cook anything better." Bellamy retorts.

"I only wish I were talented enough to impress you." Murphy replies, voice thick with sarcasm.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

Murphy doesn't. "Okay, but seriously can you cook anything that doesn't come in a prepackaged box or isn't 90% chocolate chips."

"Sure I can."

"Uh huh."

"Whatever, Murphy. Do you want mac and cheese or nothing? Because right now I'm thinking about keeping all this to myself." his tone is serious, but the smile tugging at the corner of his lips tells Murphy otherwise.

"I guess I'll just have to endure." he sighs dramatically as he picks up the bowl being offered to him.

...

It gets late way too fast and Murphy realizes he can't just keep avoiding the question of where he'll be sleeping tonight, yet he doesn't know how to bring it up to Bellamy.

He isn't sure he's welcome to stay another night. Isn't even sure he was welcome to stay last night so he just uncomfortably fidgets with a loose string on his –well, Bellamy's– shirt until the other boy pauses the show they're watching and gives him a questioning look.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Nothing." Murphy says automatically, which earns him a doubtful eyebrow raise from Bellamy.

"Okay, well… I just don't know where I'm going to… you know… go tonight." he tries.

"You're welcome to stay here." Bellamy assures him and he sounds so convincing, Murphy almost doesn't feel like a goddamn burden.

"I don't wanna impose or anything. I mean… I should probably go home, right?" he feels like he's asking Bellamy for a lot more than just an invitation to stay another night, more like the answers to all his problems.

"Listen," Bellamy starts and Murphy doesn't really like that tone. It's the kind of tone that means Bellamy is going to pry at his personal life and try to get him to tell him everything. He wants to get up and leave before that sentence is finished.

"I don't know what happened before you got here, and I don't need to know if you don't want to tell me, but I do care that you're safe. If that means staying here for a few nights then I'm fine with it."

Murphy lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, thanking whatever greater power for Bellamy's existence, a place to stay and the fact that he doesn't have to fucking talk about it right now.

It felt like ages ago, although barely twenty four hours had passed since the… incident. Yet the memory feels fresh in his mind and he feels his eyes sting when he thinks about it.

"Can I stay?" he finally asks. His voice sounds weak to his own ears and he hates it, but Bellamy smiles.

"Sure." he says, then gives Murphy a gentle shove. "Now are you going to let me finish this show or not."

Murphy smiles back and maybe leans a little closer to Bellamy intentionally.

...

He wakes up, feeling warm, if not a little uncomfortable. He lifts his head a little, stretching out his neck and realizes he's been sleeping on Bellamy's shoulder.

He glances at the tv and Netflix is asking them if they're still watching, which clearly they aren't. He looks around for a clock or something to tell him what time it is, but instead he sees Octavia.

She doesn't seem to have noticed them yet, too busy smiling down at the phone in her hand. He doesn't know if he should move or if that would just be more likely to attract attention. He's also afraid to wake up Bellamy, who's still asleep leaning back against him.

Octavia finally looks up and when she sees them, her hand flies to her mouth to cover a smile and what he thinks may have been the beginning or a squeak.

She raises her eyebrows at him suggestively and smirks. She takes a few strides and then she's sitting on the floor in front of him, her businesslike expression barely suppressing a smile.

"So are you and Bell like..." she whispers excitedly but doesn't finish the sentence, instead raising her eyebrows again and giving him a knowing look, as if he's supposed to know what that means.

She looks like she's expecting an answer but all he can do is stare blankly back at her. "Like what?" he asks. Because what the fuck is that supposed to mean. He doesn't understand girls, he decides.

The response earns him an eye roll and a long suffering sigh. "Like together." she says, this time at full volume.

He instinctively glances at Bellamy, afraid she may have woken him and possibly to avoid the question.

"Don't worry, he sleeps like a log." she quickly assures him . "So... are you?"

"No." he answers slowly, afraid he's maybe missed something here. "We're not even friends." he feels the need to add.

She gives him the most unimpressed look he's ever encountered in his life. "You were literally in the middle of a fucking cuddle session."

Which, yeah, they kind of were so he doesn't really have anything to say in his defence. "I just… fell asleep." he tries. "We're not together."

Octavia doesn't seem to believe a word he's saying, but she leaves it at that, giving him one last meaningful look as she heads back to her room.

...

The next day is spent mainly watching tv, eating more mac 'n cheese and getting weird looks from Octavia every time she sees him.

They're sitting on the couch when a thought occurs to him. "Do you even have a mom?" he asks, only realizing it may have sounded insensitive after the words are out of his mouth.

"Ya, she's probably out doing whoever she has to do to get a promotion." Octavia spits out bitterly.

"Octavia." Bellamy scolds her, then to Murphy. "She works overtime a lot since our dad died, and sometimes she doesn't come home after. That's probably why you haven't seen her around."

Murphy nods. "Wish my mother never came home after work." he mutters under his breath, probably not low enough though, because Bellamy is giving him a quizzical look. He ignores it.

...

There's one day left to break before school starts up again and he can't believe he spent all of Christmas and New Years hiding in his room from his mother.

He's tempted to just ask Bellamy if he can stay longer, but he can't help but feel like he's overstayed his welcome. Besides, he can't spend the rest of the fucking school year wearing Bellamy's oversized clothes and sleeping in his bed.

"I'm gonna… you know.… head back to my house soon I think." he drops casually as Bellamy is making himself coffee. Maybe if he catches him before he's caffeinated this conversation will be easier to have.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"I mean… I can't stay here forever."

Bellamy has completely forgotten the pot of coffee and is staring at Murphy like maybe if he focuses hard enough he'll be able to read his thoughts. He takes a step forward, raising his hand to gently brush over the scarring on Murphy's cheek.

"I don't want you to get hurt again."

Murphy forces a smirk onto his face. He refuses to get into this touchy-feely bullshit. "What doesn't kill you, right?" he jokes.

Bellamy scowls a little, but its barely detectable. Murphy probably wouldn't have noticed if Bellamy wasn't holding his gaze so intently. He looks like he's trying to figure Murphy out, which Murphy isn't quite sure he likes.

What he does like however, is when Bellamy apparently decides that fuck it and leans forward, catching Murphy's lips with his. It's not a long kiss but it's warm and gentle. It makes Murphy feel like and his head feels a little bit dizzy.

"Wow" he whispers when they break apart.

Bellamy smiles down at him. "Yeah?" he looks really smug about it.

"Shut up, Bellamy." He says and pulls Bellamy back down into another kiss.

It starts out slow like the last one, but soon he presses up on the tips of his toes, wanting more. He likes the feel of Bellamy around him, touching him and fuck, biting at his lower lip.

He lets out a little gasp and wraps his arms tighter around Bellamy's neck, frantically trying to get more leverage and explore deeper into his mouth.

"Am I interrupting something?"

They break apart quickly and Murphy turns to the woman standing in the entrance to the kitchen. He probably looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but al least deer don't have to try hiding a goddamn semi in their pants.

"Uh mom…" Bellamy starts, Murphy's never seen him look this nervous before. "This is… um… this is Murphy… he's kind of been… uh… staying with us for the past few days."

The woman smiles, it's kind and genuine. "Pleased to meet you, Murphy." she says.

"Uh… you too." his manners are rusty, at best, and that was before getting walked in on by Bellamy's mother while he was trying to stick his tongue into her son's mouth. He briefly wonders if he should apologize for that.

"I'll leave you two at it then." she decides, giving them one last smile as she walks away.

Fuck. That was most definitely how he wanted to meet his boyfriend(?)'s mother.

"So are we like…" he trails off and is reminded of Octavia's question from a few days ago. Had she known this was going to happen.

"If you want that, then ya." Bellamy says and he looks so goddamn hopeful, Murphy can't keep himself from grinning up at him.

"Ya I want that."

"Okay well then maybe we should get out of the kitchen before someone else shows up." And Murphy shudders inwardly at the thought of Octavia walking in on them.

"That a good idea" he says as he follows Bellamy up the stairs and into his room.

...

A few hours and a whole lot of kissing later, he and Bellamy are lying side by side on the bed.

"You know what the first thing I thought when I saw you was?" he asks.

"What?" Bellamy asks, turning to look at him.

"I thought you were really fucking hot." Bellamy's mouth curves into a smirk, at that.

"You know what the second thing I thought was?" he continues.

"What?" Bellamy repeats.

"I thought you were a huge fucking asshole." That earns him genuine and beautiful a laugh, followed Bellamy's lips pressing softly against his.

Fuck. He could definitely get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading this, kudos and feedback are appreciated.  
> i might write another chapter/sequel to this, i dunno.  
> you can find me on tumblr oops-i-finished-another-season


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